The Misadventures of Alfred the Superhero
by AsWeAreNow
Summary: Alfred is a superhero. The problem is, he’s not very good at his job, often getting hurt in the process— and also that he’s trying to deal with regular life along the way. T for swearing and mild self hatred.
1. Chapter 1

"Oh no! Help! He's about to jump!"

A skinny boy sprinted towards the building the man had jumped from, throwing himself against it and launching into the air from it— breaking one of the windows, but that didn't matter for right now.

He caught the man and continued falling, but he was only several feet from the ground, so he just placed the man down. He, however, continued to skid on the concrete for several paces. He dug his elbows into the concrete, stopping himself.

_Okay, not exactly graceful_, his mind snarled, _and not perfect either. There's a lot of blood. _

_Work on that! _

The man stood up, blinking. He wasn't falling anymore, and clearly he was shocked. He recovered quickly enough, and Alfred walked away.

Alfred found himself at a coffee shop. _Okay, okay, fine, _he wasn't the best _hero_, much less a _superhero. _He was a superhero, though, and that was... exactly what he didn't need. It was hardly relevant, people bugged him about it, and somehow things that required his attention only happened when he was meeting up with someone, and now... well, _now _he didn't have any plans, seeing as his date apparently hadn't showed up at all.

Alfred stepped inside, and ordered a "full glass of espresso" as he'd put it. Admittedly, he hadn't slept in a few days, what with all the crap he had to do for college— and while he hated the bitterness, it would serve him justice where it was duly needed.

Now, he had no homework. He should've been home, getting some sleep, but he couldn't sleep and his house was barely a home. He'd bought a house with a large amount of money he'd won a couple years back, back when he was still in high school and had hope, but that was far away, and now the housing market was shit and he couldn't move.

_"And I warned you it would be like this, you little piece of shit." _

Alfred chuckled, taking a sip out of the cup of coffee. He pulled out his laptop. An article about trauma pulled up.

Alfred had quite a bit of unresolved childhood trauma, and it was just recently that he was beginning to call it that as opposed to "having the quality of being a prissy ass bitch".

And, yes, yes, Alfred knew that having a traumatic childhood was such a cliché thing for a superhero. But it wasn't his fault (or maybe it was). He couldn't change the past; and he had tried.

After finishing the whole damn cup of coffee, he paid and left.

(I don't know how to do transitions, so here you go. I'm sorry.)

Long after finishing the cup of coffee, Alfred entered his room. It smelled like beef jerkey and spoiled fruit. "Ugh. I should probably clean, huh?"

Alfred's way of coping with day to day life was to pretend that there was a camera recording him; that he was entertaining people with his existence, that his life had purpose. He entertained that last idea; though he wasn't quite sure if he believed it.

"But that doesn't matter for now!" Alfred smiled, and then he began collecting all the trash in his room and putting it in a bucket, before putting up his clothes and fixing his bed and rearranging his shelves and—

Alfred could move extremely quickly— just barely superhero quickly, but superhero quickly. He preferred to just move at the rate of a normal human, to enjoy the process.

He pulled out the vacuum. Now he _really _couldn't move fast. One time, he'd been in a rush and had tried to vacuum as fast as possible, and, well— let's just say that that hadn't turned out too well.

Alfred tried not to dwell on the fact that his date hadn't been at the coffee shop. _To be fair, I was late_... he thought to himself.

He was shaking. Itching to do something, anything.

_Or maybe it's that I'm just not respected. I fail most of the time. _

He went downstairs and began to wash the dishes, something he'd both been procrastinating and hadn't actually found time to do in the past few days.

A lot of people said that you 'had to be confident to be strong', that you 'had to let go', but there were very few things that Alfred's mind would flit between— except for when he was saving someone, which didn't take too much time or energy. Alfred hardly even had to think of it.

Once he was done vacuuming, he finally fell asleep.

**Reviews would be wonderful. Remember to drink water and have a lovely, safe day. **


	2. Chapter 2

The next day, no camera crews showed up. No one was at his door. Nothing was going on.

The only time camera crews ever actually had showed up had been one time when Alfred had managed to save a family from a flaming building.

Unfortunately, he couldn't save everyone. It had been a mere accident, of course— no villains except for himself. He'd had to leave that town afterwards, but it was just as well. He had wanted to leave.

As a matter of fact, people seemed more than a little eager to avoid him, and Alfred knew why.

He went to a café. Honestly, it wasn't a good way to spend his money, but there was free internet and he always just ordered the cheapest thing in the mornings.

Summer was coming, and unlike most college students, Alfred wasn't actually going to do anything. He didn't have anything to catch up on and no desire to get ahead, and he had more than enough money to last him a few more years. If he was careful about it, anyway.

He highly doubted he'd be able to get hired anywhere unless he moved to a different country, or at least across the country, to California. Maybe not even California, maybe somewhere with less people, like Wyoming. To be honest, he didn't want to leave, but he had no plans for the future. Not here.

Or maybe he'd get shot and wouldn't have to worry about it. Maybe he'd become a vegetable.

He wasn't going to go out of his way to become a vegetable.

_Didn't I tell you? Fucking freak. That's why no one will love you except for me. _

Alfred flinched, looking around, but of course there was no one that he knew in the café. He went back to drinking his black coffee and browsing the Internet, slightly more uneased.

**Untold Truth **

**m/genericusername423Xx**

**We can't get mad at drug dealers because they're taking advantage of the vulnerable and that's what capitalism is about.**

"Huh." _Sounds like a drug dealer. _

Alfred looked up only to find the cashier glaring at him, so he sighed, downed the rest of his coffee, and left.

(Linebreak.)

"Hey, Bean!" He called out. "Bean!"

Bean, of course, referred to Mameko, also known as his best friend in the entire world. Er... Ames. He would have to remember that.

"Oh, Alfred!" She called out. She walked even further ahead to throw out a plastic water bottle, and then walked back to reach him. "So— so, I'm thinking of changing my name again."

"Why's that?" Alfred asked. "I think your name is beautiful, and you've already changed it once."

"Not my first name— my last name," Ames hissed. "It's hard to get a job with the name Honda."

Alfred stopped, frowning. "Is it?" He asked. "So what are you planning on change it to?"

"I was thinking... Walker. That sounds nice and white, doesn't it? And then, without my name to stereotype me, maybe they'll actually pay attention to me."

"Ames Walker?"

"Yes. That sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"I guess." Seeing Ames looking uncertain, he said, "It's your choice. No matter what, I'm still gonna call you Bean."

"The only thing that remains of my previous name," she said, and then laughed.

_"Hey, Mameko, what's your name mean?"_

_"Bean child," Mameko said, without looking up. _

_"Well then... I shall call you... Bean!"_

_"Oh god. Please don't." _

"So, how've you been? I haven't seen you much."

"I've been alright. I saved a man that threw himself off of a building yesterday." They were walking together. "I guess I'll escort you to your job, right?" Alfred asked.

"I suppose so. What did the guy say to you?"

"Get this: Nothing. He just walked away."

Ames nodded. "That makes sense." When Alfred looked at her, she said, "What? Imagine if you're literally in the act of committing suicide, and then you get saved? Anyway, Alfred, were you hurt during it?"

"Yes," he admitted sheepishly.

"You need to be more careful about that," Ames said. "I wouldn't be surprised if one day you chopped your head off."

"Please be surprised when that happens," Alfred said.

They stopped in front of the stationary store. "Do you need any pens, Alfred?" Ames asked. "I have an employees discount."

"No, I'm okay. Have fun. I'll see you next week or something."

"Yeah. You too."

(Linebreak.)

"Sir, can you help me?" Alfred turned as a little kid pulled on the sleeve of his old jacket. "My cat is stuck in he tree!"

"Of course I can help you," Alfred said, and he followed the kid to a front yard.

"He just ran out, and—," Alfred drowned him out and started to climb the tree.

He gently reached out to grasp the cat, grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and quickly transferring her—him— to his other arm. He shimmied down the tree and placed the cat in the boy's arms.

"You got him down?" A lady called out, opening the front door. When she saw Alfred there, she quickly pulled her child inside.

Alfred sighed and continued walking.

Everyone would think that Alfred was loved and respected and well-known, but that was hardly the case. The comics lied. No, in the real world, Alfred was seen as a freak. Hellspawn. Something like that. _Maybe I just need the kickass costume_, he thought bitterly.

_Useless. No one appreciates you— there's nothing to appreciate._ Alfred ignored that voice in his head and continued to walk. His family had been right in the end, maybe.

Alfred went home after that. Nobody stopped him. Nobody wanted pictures or autographs. That was all 'well good', as one of his other friends, Arthur, would say. It was all well good with him. Alfred just wanted to go home.

**Reviews would be highly appreciated. I know it's been over a month, and I can only apologize for it.**

**Have a good day, stay safe, and stay hydrated.**


	3. Chapter3

Being a superhero meant a few things.

The first, of course, was that he _could not _under _any circumstances _sit down while riding the metro _ever_. One time, Bean had asked him why he didn't when all the seats were empty. ("Those seats are for old people! I would never force an old person to stand!" Alfred had screeched in horror. But then, it was America. Those seats were really for fat people.)

So there he was, standing. He was very much tired— he hadn't slept at all the night before— and no one else was really there. Still, he didn't sit. He refused. It was a matter of pride.

He was going to see the Bean (Alfred actually thought of her as _the _bean, but of course he couldn't refer to her as 'the bean' out loud), so it was well worth it to stand.

Being a superhero also meant that he had to take the stairs instead of the escalator whenever possible.

Alfred climbed up the stairs, reflecting on the choices he had made that had led him to the middle of a long ass flight of stairs. He was halfway there; he might as well not stop.

And then he fell. All the way down the stairs.

Alfred groaned.

Being a superhero also meant you weren't supposed to swear. Not too badly, anyway. And so he held his tongue and began trudging up the stairs again, despite the pain that was now all throughout his body.

During that, he occupied himself by thinking of parts of his body that _didn't _hurt. Eventually, he decided that his fingernails were quite alright.

He bought a hamburger from the local McDonald's on his way to the Bean.

(Linebreak.)

Five uneventful minutes later, he showed up at the Bean's house. He knocked. "H-Hey, Mame— Bean! Are you there?" He shouted.

The Bean opened the door a minute later. A dark haired man shoved her aside. "Fucking pyro," he spat at Alfred, shoving him aside as well and dashing down the porch steps.

Alfred, of course, hadn't moved. He rushed over to the Bean. "Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yeah. I'm sorry."

"Who was that?"

"My brother. He came over because his flight got cancelled, but he doesn't like you. And I couldn't just cancel our meeting like that so I—,"

"Sorry," Alfred said awkwardly. He helped her up.

The Bean noticed that he had a hamburger in one of his hands. "I would have fed you, you know. I am the one that insisted you show up so early. Are you still hungry?"

Alfred shook his head. "Nonsense. And no, I'm okay."

They talked for awhile, about random things. "Really, Bean, are you alright?" He asked. "He shoved you pretty hard. Is he usually like that?"

"I'm okay," the Bean said.

(Linebreak.)

After about four hours of old reruns of _Bill Nye_, with Alfred obnoxiously chanting along to the theme song every single time and Bean staring uncomfortably, they tried to decide what to make for lunch. Alfred offered to make it, but the Bean refused, insisting to make the food.

"I thought you didn't wanna give in to gender roles."

"Exactly. Gender has nothing to do with this, so it wouldn't make a difference if a guy or girl was doing this," and with that, a tiny smirk and, "It has everything to do with who is more capable of creating a culinary masterpiece."

Today was the Bean's day off— Sunday, because she'd lied and said she went to church, and the Christian storeowner had gushed over her being Christian. And so that was what Alfred argued. "Come on, Bean! I don't work! Let me make food!"

"Fine. Fine, fine, fine— you can make food."

And so they ate plain bread-and-butter sandwiches.

"How is it?" Alfred asked anxiously.

"I've had better lunches," Bean huffed.

(Linebreak.)

Well, Alfred really happened to be unable to catch a break. As soon as he'd parted ways with the Bean at the end of her driveway and walked close to the underground entrance, he had heard a scream and had looked around to see a young lady, held at gunpoint. A few people rushed through to scan their cards and get through the barrier and then to the safety of downstairs, but the rest were stuck there.

"Hands up, everybody! This is an armed robbery!"

Alfred walked up quietly. "You don't say," he muttered, and then he reached and plucked the gun from the robber. _This is a poor place for a robbery, _he thought numbly, and then he grabbed the robber and shoved him onto the ground before picking him up by the arm and walking out.

_He's lucky I didn't have matches, _he joked, but it wasn't funny, and it probably wouldn't have been funny to anyone else.

_Don't complain, Alfred. I can do what I want to you. You rely on me. You have so much, and you still complain. _Alfred looked around again, as if he expected someone to just be staring at him from around the corner, but no one was there. Only the robber that he wouldn't let go.

(Linebreak.)

Alfred spent the rest of the day at the police station, waiting for Francis to pick him up. The police station was quite a long way from the subway— quite a long walk, anyway. And the city didn't like him enough to give him a free ride.

And so, the day was pretty much ruined— that's what he had thought at first. At least watching _Bill Nye _with the Bean had been nice.

**Hey guys. So I should've addressed this in the previous chapter, but I forgot, so— yes. Female Japan. I should've included this in a warning in the description, but I didn't so I'll add it now. **

**Also, this chapter isn't supposed to be a ship chapter. That's not what this story is about, at least not mainly. Please don't take it as such. **


	4. Chapter4

**HelloThereHowAreYou: Thanks.**

Alfred was still waiting for Francis to come pick him up, two hours later. It was past dinner time now.

Finally, Francis pulled up. "Alfred! I'm so sorry, my friend! Work wouldn't let me off, not to pick you up."

Alfred winced. "It's quite alright."

"You're becoming a bit much like Arthur," Francis chuckled. "Perhaps you'd like dinner before you come home? Or would you like to stay with us?"

"No, it's okay. Can you just drive me home?"

"Sure."

Alfred couldn't help himself, so he said, "Why aren't ya with Arthur?"

Francis laughed. "You wanted me to pick you up."

"Doesn't he get upset with you if you're back late without telling him?"

"Yeah. But he's nothing to be worried about. He'll be fine if I wake him up from his late night nap, don't worry."

Alfred nodded and stared out the window. "Alfred, you should really get your own car."

Alfred shrugged. "Why? Everyone walks."

"Until it's dark out." Francis clapped him on the back. "Goodnight, Alfred. Take care."

"G'night, Francis."

(Linebreak.)

Late that night, Alfred's date from the other day called him. "Hello?" Alfred asked.

"Alfred! Why didn't I see you at the coffee shop?"

"Sorry, I had to... A man was falling, Deya. I-I couldn't just—,"

"Oh, alright. I'll give you another chance." Deya's voice was playful, and Alfred smiled weakly even though she wasn't there to see it.

"Sorry for being late last time, really."

"Oh, it's no big deal. How about... a second date, to make up for it?"

"Yeah. That sounds great. When?"

They ended up agreeing on a rather expensive restaurant a week from then. Alfred made the reservations.

(Linebreak.)

And the date went well. Alfred paid for everything— Deya hadn't insisted, Alfred just hated feeling like he owed people anything. And of course he wouldn't owe anything if they had split the bill, but he himself wouldn't hold anything against someone, so it was fine, everything was fine.

Afterwards, he reported to Ames that the date went well.

(Linebreak.)

Alfred was at the bank one day when someone suddenly pulled out a gun. The guy with the gun, the robber, the conniving son of a bitch— was at the front, pointing his gun at the other customers of the bank, who had been waiting in line peacefully but were now against the wall.

And then more of them pulled out guns. Apparently at least a fifth of the people in the room had been robbers, and it was bloody crowded that day.

Alfred frowned, leaning against the wall. What was he supposed to do? He stared hard at the glass wall, as if he could shatter it. To be fair, he had never tried to do anything with sheer will before.

The glass didn't shatter, and now the robbers looked like they wanted to shoot the nutjob first. _Glass makes a robbery rather inconvenient, even if it is frosted... _

One of the robbers turned their backs, but the others kept their guns pointed at the crowd. One of the employees had pressed the magic button. "The police will be on their way any second! The—,"

The robber's finger twitched.

Alfred stood up, and in less than a moment he had knocked the robber to the ground. He took the gun and aimed it at the other robbers, although he knew that he didn't need it. Hopefully. Maybe.

Still, one of them kept his gun on the crowd, about to press the trigger, while the others pointed their guns at Alfred.

And yet again— Alfred wasn't sure how it happened, he always seemed to black out when he was doing stuff— he had knocked one of the robbers over before they could shoot anybody.

And so, Alfred managed to defeat the group of robbers (who apparently must not have cared about concealing their identity) without ever remembering a thing, only that it had happened.

He just sat on the floor of the bank along with the robbers, waiting for the police to arrive. The bank employees trembled behind the glass, staring at him as if he was a monster. As if he would shoot someone.

(Linebreak.)

That was another day spent at the police station. One of the officers, upon seeing him, just sighed and shook his head and then looked back down at his work. The police rarely even bothered with him these days, especially not when there was a camera recording an 'incident'. Alfred was almost certain it wasn't legal, but then, who was he to say what was and wasn't legal?

Alfred just sat there in silence, looking at the ground. Finally he looked up and said, "Can I call someone to pick me up?"

And so he did. He almost called Deya, but decided against it in the end. He didn't want to bother her too much.

So he called Ames instead.

(Linebreak.)

"Hey, Bean."

"Alfred, did you hurt yourself this time?" Alfred shook his head. "Good. I'm glad— I'm glad you're alright." They were at the car now. "Well, come on. Let's go home."

They sat in silence in the car, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Ames turned on the radio, humming softly to the music.

"That could've been dangerous, you know," Ames finally said.

"I know."

"I guess danger always finds you, huh?"

"I don't think danger has found me," Alfred replied, a headline flashing through his head. He'd read it on the news awhile ago: '_Local family's house burns: Arsonist not found'. _"Not yet."

Alfred didn't know just how wrong he was.

"Hopefully never."

Two days later, the article had been taped to his door.

"I didn't even get to withdraw money," Alfred whined. _Fucking useless. You don't know how to do anything, do you? _There was no need to look around. He already knew no one else was there.

"Couldn't you do that at an ATM?"

"I felt like interacting with people."

Ames scoffed, shaking her head. "So, how's it going with Deya?"

"Good," Alfred said, smiling. "

"I'm glad you're alright," she said again. "Goodnight, Alfred."

"'Night, Ames." Alfred got out and waved before climbing the porch steps, unlocking his door, and slipping into a dark house.

**Hey guys, I'm going on vacation again— and then immediately after, school— so there might not be any updates for awhile. If there are any problems with formatting, it's because I'm on mobile and the app is causing significant kerfuffles, so I'll try to fix it as soon as I can. Stay safe, everybody. Make sure to stay hydrated. **


	5. Chapter 5

**TW for mentions of sex and CSA/ child abuse, generally— not graphic, but worth a mention. Please keep yourself safe. There's a fair amount of swearing in this chapter, too— I'd like to say it's not too bad, but anything I say about its severity is going to be severely warped by my own life experiences. I'll just say that none of it is racist, sexist or homophobic.**

Alfred was having a grand ol' time. Deya had invited him to her place, and of course Alfred hadn't been able to reject. Alfred had refused to have sex, though, and now they were just sitting rather awkwardly.

"I'm sorry."

"No need to be." Deya paused. "Alfred, I really don't want to force you to do anything."

"I'm still sorry."

"I love you, and I don't—," Deya stopped herself again, taking a deep breath. "I love you. I don't want to do anything that hurts you."

Alfred was a bit stunned at the idea that anyone could love him, and he wasn't sure if he would call this 'love', but— "Yeah. I love you too." And God, he was fucking stupid. For one thing, he wasn't supposed to be this vulnerable, was he? and then, of course, this whole 'love' thing... but Alfred didn't want things to be awkward, and he was used to adapting to situations. He could make this work. The last thing he wanted was to upset Deya, and anyway—

"So... What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Alfred admitted, because in truth he wanted nothing more than to apologize and then never, ever talk to anybody ever again.

"How about we play a video game?"

Alfred just nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

He didn't speak much for the rest of the time. The video game was fine— he hadn't played this one before, as he'd always thought of it as a waste of money— but he wasn't really focusing, and as such, Deya beat him every time.

* * *

About an hour later, Alfred was waiting a few blocks away from Deya's house. Francis was supposed to pick him up soon. It wasn't like Alfred was able to wait at Deya's house because he didn't want Deya to see him as a loser.

So there he was, shivering. It was somewhat cold and his jacket wasn't thick enough.

Francis's car pulled up.

"So... you and Deya, huh?" Francis asked once he was in the car. Alfred stabbed the seat warmer a handful of times, effectively turning it off. Francis turned it on for him and they continued. "What happened?"

"She wanted to have sex."

"Mhm?"

"And I rejected."

"Damn. I didn't raise you that way," Francis joked. He turned on the radio and then turned it down until no one could really hear it.

Alfred didn't respond.

"Well... how do you feel? What did you guys do afterwards?"

"She said she loved me."

"Oh. What did you say?"

"I said the same," Alfred mumbled.

"Haven't you two only been dating for two months now?"

"Well, what was I supposed to say?"

Francis frowned. "Alfred, you're moving faster than Ar— you're moving really fast. You need to calm down and take your time."

"Well, what was I supposed to tell her?"

"Do you actually love her?"

"Yeah." Alfred just wasn't close enough to her to actually say it, and besides, Alfred loved basically everyone he knew— he was just a traumatized kid, desperate for love and affection, constantly trying to make up for the first eighteen years of his life. "What do I do now?"

"I don't know, Alfred. The only woman I dated was in highschool. Sure we had a lot of... er, fun times together... but we didn't talk much."

"I didn't need to know that, and you don't need to treat me like a child."

"Sorry." Francis paused. "You should get her a gift. Flowers or something."

"Flowers. I can do that. Yeah, flowers."

* * *

Alfred felt like a child again.

There he was, laying, trying to rest. Rest. Rest was always important. For fucks' sake, it wasn't like he was a child anymore. He had his own house. He was going to school. He was going to be a... well, he'd chosen to major in political science, but seeing how unpopular he was, of course he'd never actually do anything political. He couldn't really be anything in that field, but at least he had a house!

Alfred needed to fucking rest.

He closed his eyes, and then opened them immediately. He felt like a child. He put on more clothes and climbed under the covers, but when it got too hot he had to get up and turn on the fan and open the windows. And then he went back to bed and closed his eyes again, and even when his mind drifted off he didn't let himself open his eyes.

The problem with letting his mind drift off was that typically he had nightmares. But now— well, now Alfred couldn't sleep at all.

He called Ames, because that seemed like a logical next step.

Ames didn't pick up.

Alfred's thoughts meandered along, and eventually he was stuck in the same rut of self hatred that he was always in. Alfred had been trying to work on that; he'd been trying to work on a lot of things— but now the self hatred was justified, or at least he thought it was.

God, Deya was going to break up with him. Definitely. Alfred hadn't told her anything about being traumatized, mostly because he felt like he didn't have any right to be. But Deya would figure out what his parents had done to him and then she'd be absolutely disgusted with him because Alfred was worthless and pathetic, and—

Alfred took a few deep breaths, tried to slow down. It didn't work.

Deya was going to break up with him, just as he'd started looking forward to her company. Maybe Alfred cared less about Deya and more about the fact that this was how he expected all his relationships to go. Deya would inevitably figure everything out, and she'd break up with him because of the Obvious Golden Rule that Alfred had just thought of: Mommy/Daddy issues were kinky; Mommy and Daddy issues were just too much baggage to really be a worthwhile person. And then what? Maybe everyone else would realize and leave him too.

And Alfred really, really needed to calm down. He felt a little bit sick now, and he needed to just slow down. Breathe.

Nobody was going to leave him, at least not for something like that.

* * *

Alfred proceeded to not eat for two days. In his defense, he wasn't exactly hungry. He was also aware of the fact that he hadn't eaten and just didn't really give a fuck, even if he was feeling mighty weak, so maybe he didn't have a great defense after all.

Alfred knew it was bad to not eat. That was an obvious thing. He still didn't feel like it right now, but maybe he'd set a few alarms on his phone. One for each meal, and then he'd be back on track. Definitely.

* * *

Alfred's alarm went off four hours later. He stopped it, grumbling, and went to the kitchen. He still didn't feel like eating, so he decided to FaceTime Ames.

"Hi, Alfred."

"Hi, Bean. I need you to yell at me while I make food."

"What?"

"Well, don't actually yell. Just encourage me. I need you to tell me to make food."

"Okay." Ames frowned slightly, confused, and then said, "Alfred, you need to eat something."

"Thanks."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm going to be okay soon. I just need to eat, and then I can get started on my day."

"It's 4 PM," the Bean said.

"Well," Alfred murmured, taking a bite of his cold burrito, "Maybe I want to see the city nightlife. Anyway, I'm gonna see Deya again today, but I need to buy her flowers. Ames, if someone were to buy you flowers, what flowers would you want?"

"I don't know, Alfred."

"Why not?"

"Well, I like cherry blossoms, but those grow on trees. Sorry, but you're on your own."

"Oh. Well, fuck."

Alfred talked to the Bean for awhile before finally, finally starting his day.

* * *

Alfred stopped at a flower shop. The florist was a nice woman. "Hi. How are you today?"

"I'm really great. Miss, I really need help."

"What do you need help with?" The woman asked.

"I'm getting flowers for my girlfriend and I don't want her to leave me."

"Well, is she mad at you?"

"No." The woman didn't look convinced. "I just suffered horrible trauma as a kid that made me feel I'm incapable of ever being loved, and also made me unable to be comfortably intimate or even somewhat affectionate with anyone, whether I love them or not. And anyway, I'm sorry. I guess I don't even know your name yet, and I'm already oversharing. That's how it always goes. Sorry. Anyway, I'm Alfred, and I need flowers for my girlfriend and I was wondering if you could help me with that."

The lady helped him with light blue, pink and white flowers without saying a word. Alfred decided he'd shut the fuck up, too, and when she was done Alfred gave her his fifty dollars (broken into twenties and a ten, of course) and left.

* * *

The thing about Alfred was that, while he didn't want anyone in his personal life to know, he still had a real problem with oversharing and he had to make a conscious effort to not do so in front of the people he loved. When he was with random fuckers who couldn't hurt him because they weren't close to him, like florists and doctors and shit, he fell straight back into oversharing. One time, a stranger recommended him a UK helpline, The Samaritans. Alfred ended up feeling like a waste of resources and also managed to forge fondness towards the entity 'Jo', so he ended up giving it up.

This happened all the time, too. When he'd first moved and escaped his hometown, just a few weeks after his eighteenth birthday, he'd bought his big old house and had quickly run into a problem: laundry. He would've used the internet, but there was nothing like human instruction, so he took the little change he'd saved up over his time as a minor— leave it to him to save up and then not need to use it— and went to a laundromat.

Well, he asked the man running the laundromat, who was ironing in the corner, for help. He accidentally spilled everything in his life that had ever gone wrong, and at the end the man had just shrugged and told him to put the quarters in.

That was how he'd met Arthur, actually. Arthur had taken pity on him and instructed him on how to do the laundry, how long to wait, things like that. He waited with Alfred until the laundry was dry, and then Alfred just thanked him and left.

The next week, Alfred was trying to do his laundry at home, but he doubted himself and needed to go back. As it turned out, Arthur and Alfred both did their laundry on the same day.

And then the week after that, Alfred just felt too lonely attempting to do the laundry by himself.

Arthur eventually offered to teach him how to do More Things, like cooking and shit, but Arthur wasn't much good at cooking. Alfred felt like a waste of time and also didn't have the heart to tell him, so he just thanked Arthur for telling him how to use an oven and stove without burning the house down. By that point they were friends, but Alfred still didn't know how to cook.

Damn, he needed to talk to Arthur more. Arthur, the man who had given him written instruction on how to pay his taxes. They never really talked much these days because Arthur had an all-demanding job as a journalist. At least Alfred was able to talk to Francis.

* * *

Alfred's life was almost comically filled with misfortune and woe. Every time he meant to strengthen the relationships that he had, which were almost always ruined or strained, things like this happened.

Enter your typical bomb-and-hostage situation. You know the type. Indeed, there were people tied up and there was a bomb attached to them, and they were at the top of a building, close enough to the edge that they were in full view. A man was screaming about God, but Alfred was fairly certain this wasn't very Christian... or Catholic... or anything except terrorism, really. Usually the area might've been swarming with police, but today they hadn't yet shown up.

Alfred found himself entering the building. He ran up the stairs as fast as he could, concentrating solely on getting up there. Faintly, he heard someone screaming about how the world would pay, how this city was full of sin and he hoped they all burned in hell. That sounded a bit much like some of Alfred's middle school teachers, but now wasn't the time to reflect on that.

Alfred was at the top of the building. There were 33 seconds left on the bomb, and it was strapped to one of the hostages.

"You! God, what the hell are you doing?" The man demanded, turning to face him.

"You're taking the Lord's name in vain," Alfred chided him, but it didn't sound witty or cool like when all other superheroes said something witty or cool. The man tackled him. Alfred kicked him in the chest and then rushed to the hostages.

28 seconds.

Alfred tried to pry the bomb free first. In the process he yanked the hostages off the ledge. "Sorry!" He hissed, steadying them as they fell.

26 seconds.

Prying didn't work— and hostages? Was hostages the right word?

25 seconds.

New strategy. Alfred was really starting to freeze up. What the hell was he thinking?

19 seconds.

Did he really just freeze up for six seconds? Holy shit. Alfred was going to die.

17 seconds.

He was going to die and he didn't even really care.

15 seconds.

No, he cared. He cared too much. This wasn't fair. He was going to die after such a shit life— just the stupid dumbass who tried to be a hero.

13 seconds.

"I'm really sorry," Alfred was saying. "If it helps, I'm sure at least two of you aren't going to hell. If there is one, I mean."

8 seconds.

Well, fuck. Alfred was going to die. What the hell was he thinking? Maybe he deserved this. If he was stupid enough to come up here, he was stupid enough to die with the rest of them.

5 seconds.

He gave the bomb another tug, more forceful this time.

4 seconds.

The flowers. They were on a sidewalk in front of the building. He'd dropped them. He'd spent fifty dollars on those damn things.

3 seconds.

The bomb came loose, but now Alfred wasn't sure what to do with it. He found himself curling in on the bomb, but he knew it wouldn't protect anyone.

2 seconds.

Alfred threw it into the sky with all the strength he could muster.

1 second.

The nutjob didn't seem smart enough to build a bomb, and Alfred felt stupid. Of course it wasn't going to go off. Of course—

It went off, flames shooting through the sky, but all Alfred could see was white. He fell to the ground, stunned.

The police were rushing up. His vision returned, and all he could see was the nutjob. He was falling.

Falling? That couldn't be right. Alfred ran to the man and reached for him.

He was gone. Alfred didn't watch as he plummeted. He would have, but an officer pulled him back by the elbows.

* * *

Alfred had never really been in trouble with the law before. Usually he was just taken to the police station and sent off because he was always in the wrong place at the wrong time— and because he was the city's one superhero, and because they all knew him... Alfred was pretty sure the police were biased, but he couldn't figure if they were for or against him.

Alfred wasn't in handcuffs anymore, so he figured he was fine. This particular officer reminded him of a social worker he'd met as a young kid; as such, Alfred wasn't feeling great about it.

The officer gave him a stern talking-to about how dangerous all of that was, how he was reckless and stupid and could've gotten everyone killed.

"Seriously! Shrapnel! Did you even think of that?"

"Shrapnel," Alfred murmured faintly. "No, I guess I didn't."

Alfred knew that he was reckless and stupid and could've and should've been killed, but he responded as politely as he could until the police officer decided to let him go.

And then he was out on the streets with no money to get back home. Now was a perfect time to call Arthur.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Arthur was driving him home. "Alfred... how have you been recently?" He asked.

"Good."

"Why were you outside of a police station? Did you get caught with alcohol or something? Were you there for a friend? What happened?"

"Nah," Alfred murmured. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm really tired. How have you been?"

"I've been okay. Work is stressful."

"I have a question," Alfred said, and then plowed ahead. "If you're a journalist, why do you need to live in such a shitty apartment? Don't you fancy guys make good money? Middle class, right? So why do you go to the laundromat?"

"Well, there's Francis."

"Francis? What does he have to do with it?"

"Well, we mostly live off of my money, you know. He's been trying to pin down a job recently, but he hasn't found anyone willing to hire someone with no prior job experience or college education at twenty-four years old."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

They were at Alfred's house. Alfred felt bad for not speaking more, so he said, "Well, talk later?"

"Yep. Totally. Bye, Alfred. Have a good night."

"You too."

* * *

Alfred called Deya once he was safely in his house. "Hey, Deya," he said. "I'm really sorry. I saved a group of hostages and then I ended up having to stay in a police station. I'm... I'm just really sorry."

"It's okay, Alfred. Really, it's fine. Are you okay?"

"Um. I think so, yeah."

"Well, that's great. We'll just meet up some other time, okay?"

"Yeah. Sounds great."

Pause. "I'm really glad you're okay. You were on the evening news, so I already knew. I'm really proud of you."

"...Thanks," Alfred murmured quietly.

"I love you. I'm going back to bed. Bye."

"Bye."

They were moving too fast, but Alfred couldn't complain. About anything. He had a bad day, and now he was able to sleep in a warm bed, alone, and he had someone that loved him and he had friends that cared about him. That was more than he'd been able to say as a kid.

And yet the voices still stayed. _You can't tell anyone about this, because they'd be disgusted with you. _Alfred knew they were just voices, and he'd been trying their best to recover from everything that had happened to him. That's what everyone else wanted. With Arthur's help, he'd managed to stop vocalizing such thoughts, and at least knew how to be productive despite them. That didn't mean he didn't think them, though— sometimes they were all he could hear.

**So anyway, now that I've got all this time, I figured now was a good enough time as any for an update.**

**The Coronavirus took someone down a hop and a skip away from where I live, so I hope all of you are staying safe. I guess I'm fortunate, though, for I've nobody to lose. Anyway, make sure to wash your hands. I'd advise not going out unless you need to, but seeing as the states are starting to open up again, I really can't stop you.**

**A review would be wonderful. Make sure to not just become another statistic or news story, unless it's good, in which case I'm all for it. Have a great day/night.**


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